


Strike, first.

by FallingFaintly



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingFaintly/pseuds/FallingFaintly
Summary: When you know, you act.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 22
Kudos: 80





	Strike, first.

Strike had been thinking about it nearly all night. He had woken up feeling rough as a badger’s arse and had been rolling it around his head as the teabag stewed industrial strength amber liquid in his chipped mug. Years of fighting off this growing awareness, battening down the inner hatches against these feelings, watching as fearful phantoms of looming disaster danced in front of him and convinced him he could not, _must not_ act on any of it. Finally gone – vanished like one of the early morning mists that rolled in on the Cornish coast and dissolved so completely in the warm summer sun that it was hard to believe they ever happened.

He cleaned his teeth, and selected a shirt, then changed it for another one and knotted a tie round his neck. Being sure didn’t mean no effort was required; in fact, it was the starting pistol to his a-game. She deserved no less.

When he got down to the office, Pat was already busy, typing furiously, vape clamped between her lips. She looked up Strike and he noticed the almost imperceptible double-take, before she returned to the screen, with a look on her face that, if he didn’t know better, he’d think was being impressed. The very idea of him getting a confidence boost from Pat’s approval was hugely amusing for some reason, and he was suppressing a grin as he walked into the inner office, where Robin was already sat down with a mug, looking at some papers.

She turned to look at him, and her double take wasn’t hidden, and came with an added bright smile.

“What’s so funny?” She asked. “And what’s the occasion?”

She put the papers down and picked up her mug.

“Occasion?” He returned, walked round to sit down and lean forward to rest his elbows on the desk.

“You look… actually, I don’t know. It’s still early and I didn’t think we had any appointments, but you look…” Robin had a quizzical look on her face.

“Should I take it as an insult or a compliment that it’s such a big deal when I make a slight effort?” He laughed, rubbing a big hand over his jaw. He hadn’t shaved, based on some intuition that she preferred him that way.

She joined in the laugh, and damn it, if he didn’t feel his heart thump faster at the sight and sound of her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean… you look fine, Strike. Are you going somewhere, though? The tie is a bit snazzy for 9 o’clock in the morning,” she teased.

He glanced down at the tie.

“’S’not ‘snazzy’,” he said, in an affectedly wounded tone. “It’s black.”

They shared a smile in response to this, and he waited a beat, before leaning back in his chair.

“However, I wouldn’t be averse to going to the pub at lunchtime, so don’t disappear anywhere,” he said, holding her gaze for a second, enjoying the slightly startled expression and widened eyes, before batting his hands down on the desk and walking out of the room to make another cup of tea. He felt her watch him walk, her pretty mouth somewhere between a perfect O and the beginnings of a question and he couldn’t suppress another grin.

“What’s so funny?” Pat asked, a touch more indignantly that Robin had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They passed a pleasant enough morning with necessary tasks, and Strike had played it a little cooler than those first few delicious moments, because Robin had only needed that to be visibly intrigued, and he knew he didn’t need to over egg it. He noticed her glances, though, and couldn’t resist occasionally meeting her eyes and holding the space between them, before she looked down to what she was doing again with a confused half smile.

One o’clock rolled round, and Strike stood up. “Get your coat, Ellacott.”

She furrowed her brow a little. “What’s going on, Strike?” She asked as she got up, and took the coat he had, in fact, got for her. As she took it, he looked at her, trying to keep his expression neutral.

“We need to talk,” he said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A short while later, seated comfortably with a pint and Robin in front of him, Strike reflected that the walk down had been one of those strange little confirmations you get when you know you’ve made the right decision. She didn’t pester him, though she was clearly curious. She chatted quite smoothly about the current cases, and though he knew she was itching to know what was behind all this, she didn’t betray that in her tone at all. He wondered if she had already guessed that this was something a bit more significant, as she didn’t even make any archly oblique teasing comments.

This was the woman he loved; the woman that understood boundaries, the woman who was as incorrigibly professionally curious as he was, hands in pockets, striding along next to him, amber gold hair tousled round behind her ear, patiently waiting and watching for what might happen next.

“So, what’s this about then?” She asked, pulling her scarf loose and taking a sip of wine.

Strike paused, his heart banging in his chest, his mouth suddenly a little dry. Sure is one thing. Getting it said is another. He took a large, steadying gulp of ale, and put the jar down.

“Robin,” he said, looking down at the beads of condensation on her wine glass. “I need to tell you something, something that I’ve been thinking about for ages.”

He realized the words weren’t going to be tidy, polished and rehearsed. He wished he could just fold her into his heart so she could feel what he was trying to tell her without trying to find the right combination of syllables, and he looked up, into her beautiful face, willing her to maybe read it in his eyes.

He was still scared, of course he was. This was the biggest punt he had ever taken, but once he had acknowledged the truth last night, when she had dropped him off after their long day, and she had inexplicably put her hand up to brush his cheek for a fraction of a second, and the glorious possibility hit him that she felt everything he did, there was no going back. Because by thinking she could possibly feel the same, he had to be honest about what he felt in the first place.

He thought it couldn’t be love. Love was an angry animal in his guts, a ball of tension that occasionally exploded into fierce passion before guttering in a shower of bitter tears, shouting until he was hoarse. That’s what love had been with Charlotte. But sitting in his flat, can of beer open and regularly swigged on while he thought, slowly smoking through three cigarettes, he knew this was love. It was heavy and light and warm and – he tried to quantify why this next word was true and all that came to mind was the steady, faithful love of Joan – _safe._ And safe didn’t mean boring (as if chasing excitement mattered to him anyway), safe meant trust, it meant never letting him down, it meant knowing there was one person who always had his back and for whom he would crawl across glass for, not in masochism, but because he absolutely knew she would patch him up in return.

She was looking at him, expectantly, and he took another drink.

“Bloody hell, Cormoran, out with it, the suspense is killing me,” she said lightly, and he knew she was trying to lighten a mood that had suddenly become rather intense. He was grateful – he didn’t really want this to be an embarrassing dramatic declaration. There was no need. He didn’t want to intimidate her. He just wanted to tell her the truth. He smiled warmly, and nodded.

“Ok, ok, sorry,” he replied, and took in a breath. “How long have we known each other, Robin?”

“A while. Coming up to 4 years I think,” she replied, before sipping wine and eyeing him keenly.

“Right. Yeah. And we’re good mates, I think,” he continued.

“The best,” she nodded.

“You know how much I respect and value you as a partner.” His tone was even, and his eyes locked onto hers again. _I am going to say it, but I’d really like you to already know._

“Well, I didn’t always, no, but you’ve got much better at letting me know,” she replied. He looked down and his mouth turned in a rueful smile as he conceded the point. She never let him get away with any bullshit. God, he loved and hated that.

“Ok, but you know now, yeah?”

She nodded.

_Here goes nothing._

“Well, I think I need you to know that isn’t everything,” he said, reaching his hand out to take hers. He thought he saw panic in her face, and then there was something else. He sensed her breath had quickened, and for a second, he wondered if he’d cocked it up.

“Is there something wrong?” Robin asked, concern in her tone, and he realized she was expecting him to share bad news.

“No,” he shook his head firmly. “Everything’s fine. I’m trying… I’m trying to tell you how I feel.”

She blinked.

“How you… feel?” She said slowly.

“About you,” he replied.

The air was thrumming with tension. Strike felt like everything had gone very quiet, and he could hear his own heartbeat.

“And how do you feel about me?” Robin asked, after a long moment of them looking at each other. Strike flinched a little, he was sure her voice caught a little in her throat, like she might be fighting tears. He looked down at their hands. His large one hadn’t quite taken hold of her slender one, and he rectified that, running his thumb softly over her knuckles. He swallowed and looked back into her eyes.

“I love you,” he said.

The tears he thought she was holding back prickled in the corners of her gorgeous eyes, and for the merest fraction he thought he’d pitched it all wrong, and then he saw her smile, and he took a sharp breath in as it dawned on him that she was crying with delight.

“Oh, Corm,” she whispered.

“Sorry, are you ok?” he asked, more to fill what could have felt like an awkward silence than because he thought she was distressed. She looked radiantly happy.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I am.”

There it was. He’d just laid it out for her to turn away from if she chose, and she hadn’t. More than hadn’t, her reaction had been as unexpected as Robin Ellacott ever was to him. He stood up, without letting go of her hand, moved round the table and pulled her out of her seat.

“C’mere,” he said, his hand caressing her cheek just as she had absent-mindedly done the night before, unwittingly unlocking all of this at last. Such a small gesture. So much in it. He bent his head to her upturned face and kissed her, running his hand into her hair, his other hand still holding hers, pulling it into his chest. She yielded and responded to his kiss like nothing he had ever dared dream. _Yeah, this is love,_ he thought. And safe never felt so exhilarating.

**Author's Note:**

> This is borne from a conversation with a fellow Strike fan about how these two will end up together, and how many people write them with Robin making the first move, usually from a completely justifiable motive of emphasizing her autonomy, and his respect for her. I totally agree with both these key points about their relationship, but I also think that in character, as Robin is not romantically experienced, and Cormoran is a sexually confident man, once he fully acknowledges how he feels about her and accepts that it doesn't have to torpedo their friendship or business, he's not going to be chastely waiting for her to make a move, and I don't think she is confident enough in her own sexuality to do so anyway. So, this is how I read the emotions in play, and how they might behave. The title was suggested by the fellow Strike fan simply as a pun to highlight the genesis of this story's existence...


End file.
